Some women go crazy for shoes.  Others become powerless in the presence of a high-end lipstick.

What do I embarrass myself over?  What do I own too many of that never get used?  The purchase of what item caused my husband to stage an intervention?

Journals.

You heard me right.  I cannot contain myself around journals.  Something about that blank, beautiful paper, all smooth and soft, just begs me to cover them in ink and graphite.  Which, considering most of my journals are under $20, is not a bad weakness to have, one would imagine.  The problem, (that’s what Kyle calls it,) is that a journal will last me anywhere from six months to a year-and-a-half.  Which apparently makes my desire to purchase a new journal every three weeks a bit…problematic, shall we say.

The thing is, my journals mean a lot to me.  I’ve kept one since about the 5th grade and my collection of completed journals is  almost 20 thick.  Of course, this raises the question, “Why continue to journal when you have a blog?  I mean, the only reason you kept a journal was to bide your time until the blog was invented, right?”  And truth be told, I will always keep a journal concurrently with my blog.  Part of it is that my journal is a place for me to write that which I’m not free to share with the world.  I’ve chosen to take responsibility for my words, and thus, can’t go posting every single uncensored thought on the internet.  (I tend to get fired and divorced a lot that way.)  But also, let’s face it, I’ll never pretend to be the most interesting person in the world; in between my charmingly crazy shenanigans, life around here is surprisingly banal.  And let’s face it, no one beyond my personal sphere is interested in all the reasons why my cat is the cutest kitty in the world.  So even with legions of entranced readers, (HA!) I will always need a place that is privately mine, where I am completely free to release my thoughts, petty and mean and boring as they are.

These books are my most prized possessions, as they are a physical representation of my life; they are the essence of me in physical form.  So each journal that I fill is more than just a stack of paper upon which I’ve written: it’s a place holder for a portion of my life.  Once it is filled, it will forever represent that time in my life and hold the me that existed then.  So for me, choosing a new journal is a task filled with the same importance and reverence as selecting my own coffin.  It must speak to me, represent a part of me now, and be lovely enough to carry a piece of my life; not to mention that it must be sturdy, have nicely spaced lines, and hold up to the stress of a life lived in my purse.

Last night, I completed another journal.  This one was begun in March of 2008, and holds many important transitions: college to the real world, single to married, unemployed to over-employed.  Finishing a journal, and subsequently beginning a new one, always feels like a bit of a momentous occasion.  It’s the closing of one (literal) chapter and the opening of another.  I never regret anything that was written in my journals, no matter how short-sighted, banal, immature, or just plane retarded it may have been.  We are a culmination of our experiences, so for good or for bad, those thoughts helped make me who I am now, and I can’t regret them.  But a brand new journal, bursting with smooth, creamy paper, does hold something beautiful within it: it holds potential.  The potential for new experiences, for growth, for reflection, for new memories, and for wonderful things to come.  It holds hope.

And nothing is more beautiful than hope.

It started over a candle.

We were in the grocery store, and as we passed the Home Decor section I grabbed Kyle’s sleeve.  “Ooo, hang on a second, I want to get a candle.”  (I’d had to throw a few of ours out earlier in the day.)  He held back a little.  “Why don’t you hold off on that, sweetie,” he said.  I looked at him, very confused.  “What?  I’m just talking about a $5 jar candle.”  “Yeah, I know,” he said, “but why don’t we just wait.”  “For what?”  I was totally incredulous by now.  “Christmas?  Who’s getting us candles?”  Kyle sighed.  “Let’s just wait until later in the month, after you’ve gotten a good paycheck and our finances are a little more in order.”

Unbeknown to me, Kyle’s been worrying about our finances lately.  Just a wee bit.  We’re not in any trouble, but let’s just say that our credit cards are a little heavier than we find comfortable.  He’s been playing a complicated juggling game, trying to make sure that all three of our cards get paid each month, that the one with the highest interest rate has the smallest balance, and that little by little, those numbers will get smaller.  I don’t totally understand this system, but I do know it means that at times some of our balances will be a little higher than others, and our bank account a little lower than others.  It’s a precarious position for us to be, financially, and it’s been making him understandably nervous.

But I didn’t know all this.  I knew that we were more or less doing okay, financially, but I didn’t know the details.  All I knew was that we were in the grocery store, we’d just bought a wheel of brie 6-inches in diameter at the last store, and now he was telling me that we couldn’t afford a $5 jar candle.

When we got home, (and I got my candle,) we began a discussion about our money situation, and for the first time in a long time, I got a full understanding of our situation.  And our situation is that we’re fine, barring no major catastrophes.  (Knock on wood.)  But we do have a lot of dreams, and a lot of things that we want to experience.  We want to make several more day trips to NYC, including a longer weekend trip.  We’d like to buy skis and take weekend ski trips when the snow comes.  And we would both like to own laptops that don’t require that you hit them as part of the booting process.     Unfortunately, all these dreams require a good chunk of money, money that right now is devoted to diminishing our debts.

So we decided that starting with the month of December, we’re dedicating ourselves to saving money.  Not because we’re broke, but because we’re saving up for our dreams.  So we’re cutting back on the fast food and take-out.  We’re putting a parental block on woot.com, where Kyle does most of his impulse shopping.  We’re going to run all purchases over $10 by each other.  And for the first time ever, we’re going to respect our grocery budget, instead of treating it like a suggestion.  Most importantly, however, we’re going to sit down once a week or so and have more discussions like the one we had, so that both of us are aware of how we’re looking and where we’re heading.

Depressing as this conversation was, (because really, who likes talking about their debts) I’m feeling hopeful about the future.  To me, it’s almost like a game, something to make life interesting, a challenge.  Sure, I’m disappointed by all the plans we have to put on hold; we were supposed to take a trip to celebrate our one-year anniversary this month, and it looks like that’s going to have to wait, along with skiing with my family over Christmas.  But I feel like every time I conquer temptation-every time I pass up Swedish Fish at the checkout, or manage to make a giant pot of chili for less than $10-I’m helping to make our future together a little happier.  So if it means forgoing our late-night runs to Taco Bells so that we can get a nicer hotel in the city, okay.  If letting the $10 toothbrush sanitizer on Woot go by means that we can go skiing in March, then it’s worth it. We’re willing to make a few sacrifices if it means more fun later on.

Besides, our favorite activity will always be free.

It started with this:

Then one year ago today, this happened:

As did this,

and this:

There was a great deal of this:

and this:

and I’m told there was waaay too much of this, though I tend to disagree:

Getting from this:

to this:

was quite the journey, involving a lot of big decisions, and sometimes it was hard.

But now, there’s this:

And I’m so very, very happy.